Join us October 3 at 5pm for an outdoor Blessing of the Animals. Animals on leashes or in carriers are warmly welcome, as are stuffed animals and photos.
“I am not a priest—I just poorly play one on Facebook live. My study of the Bible is relatively recent and shallow—I didn’t find my way into regular worship until I met Gene. Sure, my childhood featured Easter Sunday services in fluffy Talbots dresses and two-weeks each summer of Vacation Bible School… but those were less an expression of my belief in God than they were my being easily bribed by flowery dresses and weeks of time at Grandma’s house.
I’m not a rector, but Iama writer. I’ve consumed a lot of stories in all sorts of different media. I love the craft of storytelling, and the tropes and tools we writers use to tell a story right. That’s why I think I love John’s gospel.”
“This fourth Sunday of the Easter season is awash in images of shepherds and flocks. This Gospel passage, and the 23rd psalm from which its imagery derives. The original audience listening to Rabbi Jesus would have been more than familiar with the frequent use of images of sheep and flocks in scripture and teaching.
Years ago, when I dropped out of college for a bit of time that was graciously considered by the dean of students as a “leave of absence”, I lived on a farm in the Upper Connecticut Valley in New Hampshire. This farm raised blueberries and trees and was self-sustaining for its own produce. Living there was, quite literally, living off the land. Like most New England farmers, the man who owned the farm was responsive to his neighbors’ needs. Farming in New England is not for the faint of heart and you survive in solidarity with the other resolute souls who try to earn their living out of that stony ground and frequently harsh climate. One of the neighbors kept sheep, and when he would need to leave town for a time, we took care of his sheep. It was thus that I had a very short-career as a not very capable shepherd. The Mediocre Shepherd, you might say.”
Easter Sunday puts a pause on the world’s worries: pilgrims make their pilgrammages; choirs belt out their strong hallelujah’s; the pope says mass for thousands; preachers mock death; the adorned altar proclaims spring, and for a brief shining moment the hope of Jesus Christ risen is tangible. But then the world blinks, as it were, loses its concentration and returns its attention to other pressing matters: COVID variants in the air, a border in disarray, a boiling planet and brutal gun violence. Then it turns to look for this hope again, and it’s gone. An array of forces is approaching us led by the baddest bully of them all: death. Where is that Easter bravado today?
One week after, do you still believe in Easter? How? There was once a man who did not believe in Easter. His name was Thomas the Twin; we might call him St. Skepticus.
“As a senior applying to college, this fall and early winter were a flurry of essay writing, emailing schools, and eventually submitting applications. The supplemental essays I wrote presented a new challenge. I had to convey a sense of who I was in 500 words or fewer? Or only 150? There was a lot of frustration, sighs, and complaining on my part.”
“Every time you come to this website and join in this virtual worship, a new sinew connects you to the rest of us. Every time you phone a church friend to see how they’re doing, a new tendon stretches out between the two of you. Every time you log on to Zoom for Bible Study or Teen Formation or Crafternoon, you’re adding flesh and skin to the Body of Christ.”
“What does it mean to ‘breathe underwater?’ I’ll be the first to say, I have no idea. There was no class on any of this in seminary. And yet, before we grow any supernatural gills, we need to recognize that we are underwater. The indefiniteness of this moment; the uncertainty of it strikes us all differently, and yet the feeling of being underwater is a good one–some of us might feel like life is a massive undertow, and for others of us it is the dread of looking down and not being able to see the bottom.”
“One of the most difficult transitions I ever faced was living through, and recovering from, a depression. It was the summer of 1977, just short of my 30th birthday. I had to quit my job. I had to give up my apartment. My brothers moved me home to live with my parents. Every day I got up wishing for the day to be over.”
Sarah Jennings, our Director of Christian Formation, walks you through how to set a prayer table at home, following the routine our children use in Catechesis of the Good Shepherd.
